


April, 1939

by what_alchemy



Series: Timestamp [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rimming, period-typical attitudes toward sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:04:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1283806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_alchemy/pseuds/what_alchemy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky knows what Steve wants when he comes in like that, hair wet, robe slipping off his shoulder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	April, 1939

**Author's Note:**

> The characters' understanding of sexuality and how it is gendered reflect their time period, not ours. For very truncated background information, see [this article](http://www.nytimes.com/books/first/k/kaiser-metropolis.html) and [this book synopsis](http://cameronblevins.org/cblevins/Quals/BookSummaries/Chauncey_GayNewYork.html).

Steve wasn’t in the apartment when Bucky got back from his shift at the docks. His pencils were out on the rickety kitchen table, and it looked like he had the beginnings of a comic outlined on the paper strewn across it, so he couldn’t have gone far. Down to the deli on the next street for sandwiches, maybe, or doing errands for old Mrs. LaPierre in 17D, or even just in the shared bathroom down the hall. Bucky stripped out of his work clothes, but he figured he was in for the night so he didn’t bother rooting around for clean pants. In his cotton shorts and t-shirt, he threw open the window and climbed out onto the fire escape with a pack of Chesterfields and a box of matches. The cigarettes bothered Steve’s asthma, so he always did his smoking outside. Most of the time Steve would come keep him company, and Bucky always made sure to position himself downwind. 

He got through only half a smoke before he heard Steve shuffling around behind him. He glanced back to find Steve in the threadbare terrycloth robe Bucky’d gotten him four Christmases ago, hair wet from a shower and combed neatly into place. He set his toiletries down and came up to the window. 

“Hey Buck,” he said. “None of the dames in Brooklyn got time for Bucky Barnes tonight?”

Bucky pivoted a bit to face him, tilted a half smile at him, and Steve dropped his eyes, face going pink all the way to the tips of his ears.

_Ah_ , Bucky thought. _So that’s the kind of night it is._

Bucky’s smirk grew further before he blew out the smoke in his lungs and crushed out the flame. He tucked the half a cigarette back into the box. 

“Nah,” he said. “I’m the one ain’t got time for them.”

Steve scoffed and fiddled with a cuff, which resulted in the fabric of the robe slouching down one side to expose the milky expanse of one shoulder, the pale pink disc of one little nipple, hardening in the evening cool. This was Steve’s version of flirting. It was clumsy, but it got the job done, and something in Bucky swelled with a sort of Neanderthal pride to have been, as far as he knew, the only recipient of Steve’s efforts. In his shorts, his prick twitched and firmed up. 

“You get real clean for me, Steve?” he asked, voice low. Steve met his eyes and jutted his chin out in that determined little way he had, like he was steeling for a fight. God, but he was pretty, eyes big like a movie star. Bucky always wanted to call him dollface and sweetheart when he got like this, but he didn’t want to catch a right hook to the diaphragm. For such a little fella, Steve sure knew what he was doing when he curled his fists. 

“What if I did?” Steve said.

“Must be because you want some special attention,” Bucky said. “Lucky for you, I’m around.”

“I never claimed to have good taste,” Steve said, and Bucky laughed so loud the crack of it bounced between the buildings until the sounds of Brooklyn at night swallowed it up like it had never been there. But it had been, and it lingered now between Bucky and Steve until Steve’s lips, full and pink as any dame’s, parted slick to make way for his breath, and his tongue came out to flicker away the dryness, Bucky tracking its movements all the while.

“Get in here then, you mook,” Steve said, and Bucky swung his legs back in one after the other, shut the window tight even though he knew it would only get hotter in the apartment, and drew the curtains closed. When he turned back around, Steve was pushing their two glorified cots together, and the robe had slipped down further until all of Steve’s back was exposed to Bucky’s eyes, his back and the sweet dimples right above the modest swell of his ass, and just the start of the shadow that hid his tailbone. Bucky swallowed at the way the low lamplight threw shadows across Steve’s body, made the sharp lines and angles of him soft and warm. It made Bucky’s balls grow heavy and his cock surge to full attention.

Steve peeked at him from over a shoulder as the robe dropped fully to the floor. It wasn’t an act, like it might be with some of the dames Bucky had been with. Steve really was that shy, no matter how many times they had nights like this. The sight of him made Bucky want to be tender, made him want to whisper things he ought not to, made him want to bury his face in Steve’s smell and burrow as deep and close as the space between two people’s skins would allow. Instead, Bucky would content himself with the fact that he was allowed to drive away the chill from the shower with his hands. Bucky knew just what Steve wanted, because that was all Bucky ever thought about, even when he knew he should have other things on his mind, like the dame he was out on a date with, or the shipments he was meant to pack. 

Steve got in bed and then stretched out on his stomach, tucking his face into his crossed arms and settling his hips on one of their lumpy pillows. Bucky shucked his shirt and shorts off like the spread of Steve’s thighs was a gilded invitation. He knelt beside him and laid his hand between Steve’s shoulder blades. He loved to feel Steve expanding and contracting with breath, and under his palm, Steve sighed. He turned to blink those baby blues at him, cheek mashed into his arm. He should have looked funny, but his hair was mussed and his color was up and he looked at Bucky like he was all the stars in the sky, and all Bucky wanted was to climb inside him and stay forever. 

“You look real good like this, Stevie,” Bucky said.

“Aw, come on, Buck,” Steve said, and hid his face in the cross of his arms again. 

“You callin’ me a liar?” Bucky said, stroking slow and warm down the knobby ladder of Steve’s spine. Steve only let out a muffled grunt. “Hush up then, I don’t take no guff.” And there, as he skimmed over the smooth skin of Steve’s back, he felt Steve laugh. His dick began to leak, so he moved behind Steve and laid both hands on the gentle curves of his ass. Steve was drawn up tight like the bow of Tommy O’Halloran’s fiddle, so Bucky leaned down and pressed his lips into those pretty dimples Steve had on either side of the base of his spine. He petted lightly at the downy fine hair on Steve’s ass, golden and near invisible, before he followed with kisses. Steve sighed and though the muscles of his thighs and back still flexed now and then, he began to relax.

Bucky covered every square inch of Steve’s ass in slow, sucking kisses before he propped himself up on his elbows and pulled Steve’s cheeks apart. Steve smothered a moan in the bedding and ground his hips into the mattress. Bucky smirked to himself — Steve got a special thrill out of being looked at like this. Bucky spread him more and let a growl of appreciation rumble out of him at the sight of Steve’s smooth pink hole, framed by sparse blond hairs, damp with sweat. Steve’s hole quivered at the vibration, and a low whine erupted from him before he could bite it back. Bucky hummed in response and dropped his mouth to Steve’s asshole for a greeting kiss.

“God, Stevie, look at you,” Bucky said, letting the quiet words buzz against the soft skin of Steve’s crevice. Steve’s hole contracted against his mouth, and Bucky smiled to feel Steve’s thighs flexing beneath him. “I’ll take good care of you, don’t worry,” he said.

Bucky wondered what it would be like if someday the two of them had enough money to move to a classier joint, where the walls weren’t made of the same stuff as the newspapers, where they wouldn’t have to choke back all the things they wanted to say, all the noises that got swallowed down. But if that ever happened, if they ever made it enough to live in the kind of digs someone like Steve deserved, maybe they wouldn’t room together anymore. So it was a trade off, and Bucky thought he was still coming out on top, even if their building threatened to collapse under every stiff wind that passed it by.

Bucky closed his mouth over Steve’s hole and sucked. Steve punched the mattress and squirmed against his face, but he didn’t make a sound. Bucky nuzzled further, swiped his tongue firm over the strip of skin behind Steve’s balls, and then dragged it flat and wet over the hole before curling the tip over and over around the funny little wrinkles on the rim. He laved Steve’s ass on all sides, sucked at the skin and slurped at the trail of his own spit. The tight bud of Steve’s asshole began to slacken under the onslaught, and Bucky pushed his face in deeper, pointing his tongue and wriggling it inside. Steve’s hole gave more and more until Bucky’s tongue was as far inside him as it could go, and Steve was straining all around him, pushing his ass into Bucky’s face, twisting the sheets in his hands until they came clear off the mattresses. Bucky thrust his tongue in and out, sucking at the rim and kneading Steve’s spare little ass cheeks all at once. Steve was mottled pink all over, and the rock of his hips began to stutter and lose rhythm. He was getting close, so Bucky hummed and gripped his hips hard before throwing everything he had into licking Steve out with firm tongue and hungry mouth. 

Steve stiffened and gasped, and his asshole fluttered around Bucky’s tongue as he kicked his feet in the air. Bucky barely heard the hitching of Steve’s breath around the roar of blood in his own ears, but when Steve’s feet thudded back onto the mattress and his whole body went limp, Bucky couldn’t ignore the hot throb of his own hard on anymore. He gave Steve’s asshole one last sucking kiss before he shot up the bed and locked Steve in his arms, back to chest on their sides, cock trailing wetly against Steve’s skin. He buried his face in Steve’s neck, and Steve pulled up his top leg.

“Can I, Steve, please?” he said, and all Steve could say was, “yes, yes, please, Buck, I want you to.”

“Open yourself up for me,” Bucky murmured, and Steve, still panting, shuddered in his arms. He reached behind with one hand and spread himself open. His hole was wet and loose with Bucky’s spit, and Bucky groaned when he pressed the head of his dick inside. The stretch around him was tight and obscene. Steve threw his head back against Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky closed his arms tight around Steve’s waist, crossing over his chest. With one hand he pushed Steve’s chin until they were kissing, sloppy and desperate and so, so good. He thrust shallowly, just the first couple inches of dick in Steve’s ass, but that was all it took with Steve sucking on his tongue like that, licking the taste of himself out of Bucky’s mouth like the low down wanton only Bucky knew he was. Bucky came with a smothered shout, squeezing Steve tighter as the world dissolved bright and full of stars all around him. 

When Bucky came back to himself, he and Steve were still breathing heavily, and they were hot despite their sweat cooling in the air. He didn’t feel like disentangling himself though, even though the two beds had sort of eased away from each other to create an unpleasant trench in the middle, and the entire structure seemed to be a wet spot. Steve, a negligible weight in his arms, panting away — but without any alarming wheezing — seemed similarly disinclined to remove himself from the situation, even though Bucky’s dick was out of him and he must be leaking the load Bucky had blasted into him something fierce. 

“I’ll clean us up in just a minute,” Bucky mumbled around a mouthful of Steve’s hair. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said. “Just…stay like this, for a while.” 

Bucky could see his mouth was abraded by the day’s worth of stubble Bucky had cultivated at work, and the sight of it lit feeble sparks in his balls. 

“Sure thing, dollface,” he said. He rolled onto his back, but he took Steve with him, and after a bit of fussing Steve turned to face him and laid his cheek on Bucky’s chest and an arm over his stomach.

“I’m not a fairy,” Steve said, the words muffled in Bucky’s chest hair, “and I’m not your girl.”

No, Steve was neither of those things. The fairies — fey boys wearing make up in queer bars in Harlem or the West Village — were fun to dance with once in a while, but Bucky had never wanted to bear one down into bed with him and take him apart with his lips and hands and prick like he did Steve. And, slight and pretty or not, there was no mistaking Steve for a girl. He had square hands scarred from regular fisticuffs, and he was proud of the stubble he could grow if he didn’t shave in a few days, and though his shoulders were narrower than Bucky’s, they still gave way to a tapered waist and boyish hips that gave him some semblance of a V shape. And, of course, he had a prick he sometimes let Bucky suck before pushing his head down lower to lavish attention on his asshole. That prick was small and sweet, but it filled up Bucky’s mouth and hands just right, and sometimes he wondered how he could get Steve to let him spend more time with it. 

Bucky knew damn well Steve was a real man, no matter what the bullies in alleyways might say while they were roughing him up, but Bucky didn’t know what to do with the knowledge. He didn’t know what that made them — two real men, messing around. Steve never went with any dames, and even though Bucky did, he always preferred Steve. Bucky didn’t know what that made them, but he didn’t want to think on it. He just wanted to let the purpling dark of the evening creep into their apartment while they lay tangled up together in their makeshift bed, and he wanted to distract Steve long enough to make sure he didn’t push the beds apart again, even after they got up to have dinner. He wanted to stay with Steve, and keep touching him, and hope nothing ever had to change. 

“I know,” Bucky said. “I could hardly forget, rolling around in your come. But you still got a face like a porcelain doll, so I don’t see the problem.”

Steve snorted out a single laugh and flicked Bucky’s nipple hard. 

“Ow, jerk!”

“Take it back,” Steve said, but there was a tease in his voice. When he lifted his head, his blue eyes sparkled like Brighton Beach in the springtime. 

“I take it back,” Bucky said, and he risked cradling Steve’s face in his hands. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut, Hollywood eyelashes a dark gorgeous fan against his pink cheeks, and Bucky watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. He pulled him in close, his lips catching on Steve’s as he spoke. “You’ve got the ugliest mug in New York, and I can’t stand to look at you.”

“Damn right,” Steve whispered. 

They let the sounds of Brooklyn, the building, and their two heartbeats lull them to sleep. 

 

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> The Physicist drew some gorgeous art for this! Check it out [on Tumblr.](http://the-steve-bucky-ship.tumblr.com/post/79044911400/this-is-fan-art-by-me-for-a-wonderful-steve-bucky)


End file.
